own character, is far better prepared to find God in the forgiveness of
sins, than he is who has merely brooded over his own unhappiness, without
any reference to the qualities and claims of his Judge. It has been a
plain and personal matter throughout, and having now come to a clear and
settled conviction that he is a guilty sinner, he turns directly to the
great and good Being who stands immediately before him, and prays to be
forgiven, and _is_ forgiven. One reason why the soul so often gropes days
and months without finding a sin-pardoning God lies in the fact, that its
thoughts and feelings respecting religious subjects, and particularly
respecting the state of the heart, have been too vague and indistinct.
They have not had an immediate and close reference to that one single
Being who is most directly concerned, and who alone can minister to a
mind diseased. The soul is wretched, and there may be some sense of sin,
but there is no one to go to,--no one to address with an appealing cry.
"Oh that I knew where I might find him," is its language. "Oh that I
might come even to his seat. Behold I go forward, but he is not there;
and backward, but I cannot perceive him." But this groping would cease
were there a clear view of God. There might not be peace and a sense of
reconciliation immediately; but there would be a distinct conception of
_the one thing needful_ in order to salvation. This would banish all
other subjects and objects. The eye would be fixed upon the single fact
of sin, and the simple fact that none but God can forgive it. The whole
inward experience would thus be narrowed down to a focus. Simplicity and
intensity would be introduced into the mental state, instead of the
previous confusion and vagueness. Soliloquy would end, and prayer,
importunate, agonizing prayer, would begin. That morbid and useless
self-brooding would cease, and those strong cryings and wrestlings till
day-break would commence, and the kingdom of heaven would suffer this
violence, and the violent would take it by force. "When I _kept silence_;
my bones waxed old, through my roaring all the day long. For day and
night thy hand was heavy upon me; my moisture was turned into the drought
of summer. I _acknowledged_ my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity I no
longer _hid_. I said, I will _confess_ my transgressions unto the Lord;
and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin. For this,"--because this is
Thy method of salvation,--"shall every one that is godly pray unto
thee, in a time when thou mayest be found." (Ps. xxxii. 3-6.)
Self-examination, then, when joined with a distinct recognition of the
Divine character, and a conscious sense of God's scrutiny, paradoxical as
it may appear, is the surest means of producing a firm conviction in a
guilty mind that God is merciful, and is the swiftest way of finding Him
to be so. Opposed as the Divine nature is to sin, abhorrent as iniquity
is to the pure mind of God, it is nevertheless a fact, that that sinner
who goes directly into this Dread Presence with all his sins upon his
head, in order to know them, to be condemned and crushed by them, and to
confess them, is the one who soonest returns with peace and hope in his
soul. For, he discovers that God is as cordial and sincere in His offer
to forgive, as He is in His threat to punish; and having, to his sorrow,
felt the reality and power of the Divine anger, he now to his joy feels
the equal reality and power of the Divine love.
And this is the one great lesson which every man must learn, or perish
forever. The _truthfulness_ of God, in every respect, and in all
relations,--His strict _fidelity to His word_, both under the law and
under the gospel,--is a quality of which every one must have a vivid
knowledge and certainty, in order to salvation. Men perish through
unbelief. He that doubteth is damned. To illustrate. Men pass through
this life doubting and denying God's abhorrence of sin, and His
determination to punish it forever and ever. Under the narcotic and
stupefying influence of this doubt and denial, they remain in sin, and at
death go over into the immediate presence of God, only to discover that
all His statements respecting His determination upon this subject are
_true_,--awfully and hopelessly true. They then spend an eternity, in
bewailing their infatuation in dreaming, while here upon earth, that
the great and holy God did not mean what he said.
Unbelief, again, tends to death in the other direction, though it is far
less liable to result in it. The convicted and guilt-smitten man
sometimes doubts the truthfulness of the Divine promise in Christ. He
spends days of darkness and nights of woe, because he is unbelieving in
regard to God's compassion, and readiness to forgive a penitent; and
when, at length, the light of the Divine countenance breaks upon him, he
wonders that he was so foolish and slow of heart to believe all that God
himself had said concerning the "multitude" of his tender mercies.
Christian and Hopeful lay long and needlessly in the dungeon of Doubting
Castle, until the former remembered that the key to all the locks was in
his bosom, and had been all the while. They needed only to take God at
his word. The anxious and fearful soul must believe the Eternal Judge
_implicitly_, when he says: "I will justify thee through the blood of
Christ." God is truthful under the gospel, and under the law; in His
promise of mercy, and in His threatening of eternal woe. And "if we
believe not, yet He abideth faithful; He cannot deny Himself." He hath
promised, and He hath threatened; and, though heaven and earth pass away,
one jot or one tittle of that promise shall not fail in the case of those
who confidingly trust it, nor shall one iota or scintilla of the
threatening fail in the instance of those who have recklessly and rashly
disbelieved it.
In respect, then, to both sides of the revelation of the Divine
character,--in respect to the threatening and the promise,--men need to
have a clear perception, and an unwavering belief. He that doubteth in
either direction is damned. He who does not believe that God is truthful,
when He declares that He will "punish iniquity, transgression and sin,"
and that those upon the left hand shall "go away into everlasting
punishment," will persist in sin until he passes the line of probation
and be lost. And he who does not believe that God is truthful, when He
declares that He will forgive scarlet and crimson sins through the blood
of Christ, will be overcome by despair and be also lost. But he who
believes _both_ Divine statements with equal certainty, and perceives
_both_ facts with distinct vision, will be saved.
From these two lessons of the text, we deduce the following practical
directions:
1. First: In all states of religious anxiety, we should _betake ourselves
instantly and directly to God_. There is no other refuge for the human
soul but God in Christ, and if this fails us, we must renounce all hope
here and hereafter.
"If this fail,
The pillared firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble."[2]
We are, therefore, from the nature of the case, shut up to this course.
Suppose the religious anxiety arise from a sense of sin, and the fear of
retribution. God is the only Being that can forgive sins. To whom, then,
can such an one go but unto Him? Suppose the religious anxiety arises
from a sense of the perishing nature of earthly objects, and the soul
feels as if all the foundation and fabric of its hope and comfort were
rocking into irretrievable ruin. God is the only Being who can help in
this crisis. In either or in any case,--be it the anxiety of the
unforgiven, or of the child of God,--whatever be the species of mental
sorrow, the human soul is by its very circumstances driven to its Maker,
or else driven to destruction.
What more reasonable course, therefore, than to conform to the
necessities of our condition. The principal part of wisdom is to take
things as they are, and act accordingly. Are we, then, sinners, and in
fear for the final result of our life? Though it may seem to us like
running into fire, we must nevertheless betake ourselves first and
immediately to that Being who hates and punishes sin. Though we see
nothing but condemnation and displeasure in those holy eyes, we must
nevertheless approach them _just and simply as we are_. We must say with
king David in a similar case, when he had incurred the displeasure of
God: "I am in a great strait; [yet] let me fall into the hand of the
Lord, for very great are his mercies" (1 Chron. xx. 13). We must suffer
the intolerable brightness to blind and blast us in our guiltiness, and
let there be an actual contact between the sin of our soul and the
holiness of our God. If we thus proceed, in accordance with the facts of
our case and our position, we shall meet with a great and joyful
surprise. Flinging ourselves helpless, and despairing of all other
help,--_rashly_, as it will seem to us, flinging ourselves off from the
position where we now are, and upon which we must inevitably perish, we
shall find ourselves, to our surprise and unspeakable joy, caught in
everlasting, paternal arms. He who loses his life,--he who _dares_ to
lose his life,--shall find it.
2. Secondly: In all our religious anxiety, we should _make a full and
plain statement of everything to God_. God loves to hear the details of
our sin, and our woe. The soul that pours itself out as water will find
that it is not like water spilt upon the ground, which cannot be gathered
up again. Even when the story is one of shame and remorse, we find it to
be mental relief, patiently and without any reservation or palliation, to
expose the whole not only to our own eye but to that of our Judge. For,
to this very thing have we been invited. This is precisely the "reasoning
together" which God proposes to us. God has not offered clemency to a
sinful world, with the expectation or desire that there be on the part of
those to whom it is offered, such a stinted and meagre confession, such a
glozing over and diminution of sin, as to make that clemency appear a
very small matter. He well knows the depth and the immensity of the sin
which He proposes to pardon, and has made provision accordingly. In the
phrase of Luther, it is no painted sinner who is to be forgiven, and it
is no painted Saviour who is offered. The transgression is deep and real,
and the atonement is deep and real. The crime cannot be exaggerated,
neither can the expiation. He, therefore, who makes the plainest and most
child-like statement of himself to God, acts most in accordance with the
mind, and will, and gospel of God. If man only be hearty, full, and
unreserved in confession, he will find God to be hearty, full, and
unreserved in absolution.
Man is not straitened upon the side of the Divine mercy. The obstacle in
the way of his salvation is in himself; and the particular, fatal
obstacle consists in the fact that he does not feel that he _needs_
mercy. God in Christ stands ready to pardon, but man the sinner stands up
before Him like the besotted criminal in our courts of law, with no
feeling upon the subject. The Judge assures him that He has a boundless
grace and clemency to bestow, but the stolid hardened man is not even
aware that he has committed a dreadful crime, and needs grace and
clemency. There is food in infinite abundance, but no hunger upon the
part of man. The water of life is flowing by in torrents, but men have no
thirst. In this state of things, nothing can be done, but to pass a
sentence of condemnation. God cannot forgive a being who does not even
know that he needs to be forgiven. Knowledge then, self-knowledge, is the
great requisite; and the want of it is the cause of perdition. This
"reasoning together" with God, respecting our past and present character
and conduct, is the first step to be taken by any one who would make
preparation for eternity. As soon as we come to a right understanding of
our lost and guilty condition, we shall cry: "Be merciful to me a sinner;
create within me a clean heart, O God." Without such an
understanding,--such an intelligent perception of our sin and guilt,--we
never shall, and we never can.
[Footnote 1: SHAKSPEARE: Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 4.]
[Footnote 2: MILTON: Comus, 597-599.]
SIN IS SPIRITUAL SLAVERY
John viii. 34.--"Jesus answered them, Verily, verily I say unto you,
whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin."
The word [Greek: doulos] which is translated "servant," in the text,
literally signifies a slave; and the thought which our Lord actually
conveyed to those who heard Him is, "Whosoever committeth sin is the
_slave_ of sin." The apostle Peter, in that second Epistle of his which
is so full of terse and terrible description of the effects of unbridled
sensuality upon the human will, expresses the same truth. Speaking of the
influence of those corrupting and licentious men who have "eyes full of
adultery, and that _cannot_ cease from sin," he remarks that while they
promise their dupes "liberty, they themselves are the servants [slaves]
of corruption: for of whom a man is overcome, of the same is he _brought
in bondage_."
Such passages as these, of which there are a great number in the Bible,
direct attention to the fact that sin contains an element of
_servitude_,--that in the very act of transgressing the law of God there
is a _reflex_ action of the human will upon itself, whereby it becomes
less able than before to keep that law. Sin is the suicidal action of the
human will. It destroys the power to do right, which is man's true
freedom. The effect of vicious habit in diminishing a man's ability to
resist temptation is proverbial. But what is habit but a constant
repetition of wrong decisions, every single one of which _reacts_ upon
the faculty that put them forth, and renders it less strong and less
energetic, to do the contrary. Has the old debauchee, just tottering
into hell, as much power of active resistance against the sin which has
now ruined him, as the youth has who is just beginning to run that awful
career? Can any being do a wrong act, and be as sound in his will and as
spiritually strong, after it, as he was before it? Did that abuse of free
agency by Adam, whereby the sin of the race was originated, leave the
agent as it found him,--uninjured and undebilitated in his voluntary
power?
The truth and fact is, that sin in and by its own nature and operations,
tends to destroy all virtuous force, all holy energy, in any moral being.
The excess of will to sin is the same as the defect of will to holiness.
The degree of intensity with which any man loves and inclines to evil is
the measure of the amount of power to good which he has thereby lost. And
if the intensity be total, then the loss is entire. Total depravity
carries with it total impotence and helplessness. The more carefully we
observe the workings of our own wills, the surer will be our conviction
that they can ruin themselves. We shall indeed find that they cannot be
_forced_, or ruined from the outside. But, if we watch the influence upon
the _will itself_, of its own wrong decisions, its own yielding to
temptations, we shall discover that the voluntary faculty may be ruined
from within; may be made impotent to good by its own action; may
surrender itself with such an intensity and entireness to appetite,
passion, and self-love, that it becomes unable to reverse itself, and
overcome its own wrong disposition and direction. And yet there is no
_compulsion_, from first to last, in the process. The man follows
himself. He pursues his own inclination. He has his own way and does
as he pleases. He loves what he inclines to love, and hates what he
inclines to hate. Neither God, nor the world, nor Satan himself, force
him to do wrong. Sin is the most spontaneous of self-motion. But
self-motion has _consequences_ as much as any other motion. Because
transgression is a _self_-determined act, it does not follow that it has
no reaction and results, but leaves the will precisely as it found it. It
is strictly true that man was not necessitated to apostatize; but it is
equally true that if by his own self-decision he should apostatize, he
could not then and afterwards be as he was before. He would lose a
_knowledge_ of God and divine things which he could never regain of
himself. And he would lose a spiritual _power_ which he could never again
recover of himself. The bondage of which Christ speaks, when He says,
"Whosoever committeth sin is the slave of sin," is an effect within the
soul itself of an unforced act of self-will, and therefore is as truly
guilt as any other result or product of self-will,--as spiritual
blindness, or spiritual hardness, or any other of the qualities of sin.
Whatever springs from will, we are responsible for. The drunkard's
bondage and powerlessness issues from his own inclination and
self-indulgence, and therefore the bondage and impotence is no excuse for
his vice. Man's inability to love God supremely results from his intense
self-will and self-love; and therefore his impotence is a part and
element of his sin, and not an excuse for it.
"If weakness may excuse,
What murderer, what traitor, parricide,
Incestuous, sacrilegious, may not plead it?
All wickedness is weakness."[1]
The doctrine, then, which is taught in the text, is the truth that _sin
is spiritual slavery_; and it is to the proof and illustration of this
position that we invite attention.
The term "spiritual" is too often taken to mean unreal, fanciful,
figurative. For man is earthly in his views as well as in his feelings,
and therefore regards visible and material things as the emphatic
realities. Hence he employs material objects as the ultimate standard, by
which he measures the reality of all other things. The natural man has
more consciousness of his body, than he has of his soul; more sense of
this world, than of the other. Hence we find that the carnal man
expresses his conception of spiritual things, by transferring to them, in
a weak and secondary signification, words which he applies in a strong
and vivid way only to material objects. He speaks of the "joy" of the
spirit, but it is not such a reality for him as is the "joy" of the body.
He speaks of the "pain" of the spirit, but it has not such a poignancy
for him as that anguish which thrills through his muscles and nerves.
He knows that the "death" of the body is a terrible event, but transfers
the word "death" to the spirit with a vague and feeble meaning, not
realizing that the second death is more awful than the first, and is
accompanied with a spiritual distress compared with which, the sharpest
agony of material dissolution would be a relief. He understands what is
meant by the "life" of the body, but when he hears the "eternal life" of
the spirit spoken of, or when he reads of it in the Bible, it is with the
feeling that it cannot be so real and lifelike as that vital principle
whose currents impart vigor and warmth to his bodily frame. And yet,
the life of the spirit is more intensely real than the life of the body
is; for it has power to overrule and absorb it. Spiritual life, when in
full play, is bliss ineffable. It translates man into the third heavens,
where the fleshly life is lost sight of entirely, and the being, like St.
Paul, does not know whether he is in the body or out of the body.
The natural mind is deceived. Spirit has in it more of reality than
matter has; because it is an immortal and indestructible essence, while
matter is neither. Spiritual things are more real than visible things;
because they are eternal, and eternity is more real than time. Statements
respecting spiritual objects, therefore, are more solemnly true than any
that relate to material things. Invisible and spiritual realities,
therefore, are the standard by which all others should be tried; and
human language when applied to them, instead of expressing too much,
expresses too little. The imagery and phraseology by which the Scriptures
describe the glory of God, the excellence of holiness, and the bliss of
heaven, on the one side, and the sinfulness of sin with the woe of hell,
on the other, come short of the sober and actual matter of fact.
We should, therefore, beware of the error to which in our unspirituality
we are specially liable; and when we hear Christ assert that "whosoever
committeth sin is the slave of sin," we should believe and know, that
these words are not extravagant, and contain no subtrahend,--that they
indicate a self-enslavement of the human will which is so real, so total,
and so absolute, as to necessitate the renewing grace of God in order to
deliverance from it.
This bondage to sin may be discovered by every man. It must be
discovered, before one can cry, "Save me or I perish." It must be
discovered, before one can feelingly assent to Christ's words, "Without
me ye can do nothing." It must be discovered, before one can understand
the Christian paradox, "When I am weak, then am I strong." To aid the
mind, in coming to the conscious experience of the truth taught in the
text, we remark:
I. Sin is spiritual slavery, if viewed in reference to man's _sense of
obligation to be perfectly holy_.
The obligation to be holy, just, and good, as God is, rests upon every
rational being. Every man knows, or may know, that he ought to be perfect
as his Father in heaven is perfect, and that he is a debtor to this
obligation until he has _fully_ met it. Hence even the holiest of men are
conscious of sin, because they are not completely up to the mark of this
high calling of God. For, the sense of this obligation is an exceeding
broad one,--like the law itself which it includes and enforces. The
feeling of duty will not let us off, with the performance of only a part
of our duty. Its utterance is: "Verily I say unto you, till heaven and
earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law till
_all_ be fulfilled." Law spreads itself over the whole surface and course
of our lives, and insists imperatively that every part and particle of
them be pure and holy.
Again, this sense of obligation to be perfect as God is perfect, is
exceedingly deep. It is the most profound sense of which man is
possessed, for it outlives all others. The feeling of duty to God's
law remains in a man's mind either to bless him or to curse him, when all
other feelings depart. In the hour of death, when all the varied passions
and experiences which have engrossed the man his whole lifetime are dying
out of the soul, and are disappearing, one after another, like
signal-lights in the deepening darkness, this one particular feeling of
what he owes to the Divine and the Eternal law remains behind, and grows
more vivid, and painful, as all others grow dimmer and dimmer. And
therefore it is, that in this solemn hour man forgets whether he has been
happy or unhappy, successful or unsuccessful, in the world, and remembers
only that he has been a _sinner_ in it. And therefore it is, that a man's
thoughts, when he is upon his death-bed, do not settle upon his worldly
matters, but upon his sin. It is because the human conscience is the very
core and centre of the human being, and its sense of obligation to be
holy is deeper than all other senses and sensations, that we hear the
dying man say what the living and prosperous man is not inclined to say:
"I have been wicked; I have been a sinner in the earth."
Now it might seem, at first sight, that this broad, deep, and abiding
sense of obligation would be sufficient to overcome man's love of sin,
and bring him up to the discharge of duty,--would be powerful enough to
subdue his self-will. Can it be that this strong and steady draft of
conscience,--strong and steady as gravitation,--will ultimately prove
ineffectual? Is not truth mighty, and must it not finally prevail, to the
pulling down of the stronghold which Satan has in the human heart? So
some men argue. So some men claim, in opposition to the doctrine of
Divine influences and of regeneration by the Holy Ghost.
We are willing to appeal to actual experience, in order to settle the
point. And we affirm in the outset, that exactly in proportion as a man
hears the voice of conscience sounding its law within his breast, does he
become aware, not of the strength but, of the bondage of his will, and
that in proportion as this sense of obligation to be _perfectly_ holy
rises in his soul, all hope or expectation of ever becoming so by his own
power sets in thick night.